


To Wait a Lifetime

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco moved into Number 12 Grimmauld Place after the death of his wife, he never expected to find the love of his life, nor how long he would have to wait to claim that love</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wait a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Written for 2013 hp_adoptaprompt. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta wwmrsweasleydo:

“Draco, this is not acceptable. Surely you cannot expect I would allow you to leave your family home. And take our grandson as well.” 

“Draco, what will you do? Where will you go? What about Scorpius?” His mother interrupted. 

Lucius stopped mid-stream. Draco was sure it was due to disbelief that she had dared. Draco could only sit there resignedly. None of this was surprising. He had known this would be their reaction. 

“Father. Mother. Please, you must understand. I’ve never had a life of my own. It was always yours or the Dark Lord's. Now, it’s my turn to become my own man, and raise my son as I see fit.” Draco hoped his father caught the emphasis he’d placed on the I.

“Are you insinuating I may try to interfere with Scorpius? Don’t deny it.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Well, when you realise your mistake, and come crawling back, don’t expect it to be that easy.” 

“You’ve no need for any worry on that account. I assure you I won’t. Be crawling back, that is.” 

Both his parents sat immobile. 

“You had to know this was coming. Scorpius and I need to make a life of our own, one without the constant reminders of his mother. It’s time we moved on with our lives. We’ll move to London. I’ve always wanted to live in the city.” 

“I suppose you’ll take Greg as well,” his mother said just as his father was making some rude comment about the allowing his son to partake of Muggle ways. 

“Of course. He’s my friend. Scorpius would be lost without him, as would I.” Draco turned and stared down his father. “And, yes, if need be, and if he wants. Scorpius will be allowed if not encouraged to play with Muggle children. Though, I do admit it will be a struggle for me.” 

Even now, as Draco was having this conversation with his parents, Greg and Scorpius were in the East Wing selecting what they would be taking with them. At age four and a half, Scorpius wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, but he was so caught up in the excitement and secretiveness of what they were doing, he was at last beginning to lose that haunted look he’d worn for so long. Nor had he revealed their plans to his grandmother. 

Narcissa and her grandson were very close, for which Draco was exceedingly happy. It was his father’s beginning attempts at influencing Scorpius, which had Draco concerned. Knowing what he now knew and remembering his own years under his father’s influence, Draco could not let this happen. 

For the first time in fourteen months, Draco had begun to feel stirrings of excitement and hope. Astoria’s gentle yet genuine acknowledgment in the photo he carried with him told him she too approved of his plans. It was time for him and Scorpius to move on. 

He tuned out the rest of the argument from his parents, hearing not another word. He loved them, but at age 29, it was finally time for him to leave home, to make it on his own with his son and his son’s live-in caregiver. Goyle was not only Scorpius’s caregiver- after having declared unequivocally that he was no one’s nanny. He was also Draco’s assistant and general companion. 

They were not a couple; perish the thought. Though, they’d both found a great deal of amusement in the fact that it was assumed by so many that they were. Greg had simply been there for him, when so many others had not. Uncomfortable around him after Astoria’s death, they had more or less abandoned him. 

Greg had shown up one day and had said only, “I know. I remember what it feels like to lose your heart. I’m here whenever you need.” And he had stuck to his words. His verbal skills may not have improved over the years, but Gregory’s solid support of him, when missing his wife had hurt so much Draco thought he’d die from the pain of it, had been his salvation. Not to mention the fact that Greg and Scorpius had together formed a mutual adoration society. 

***

Two weeks later, bright and early, so early Scorpius was snuggled in the blanket Astoria had made for him while she was pregnant, still wiping the sleep from his eyes, the three of them, with all their belongings, stood across the street from Number 11 and Number 13 Grimmauld Place. Number 12, their new home, under a Fidelius Charm, was hidden from view. As the new tenant Draco was now the official Secret Keeper. 

Draco had seen the house, but Scorpius and Greg had not. The negotiations for the lease had seemed to have gone on forever. Potter and Blaise had both been reluctant for Draco to obtain the house. Blaise had assured Draco that it had nothing to do with any past animosity between him and Potter, and was in truth, the opposite. 

Draco had had no idea what he was on about. It didn’t matter; in the end he won. He and his son were about to move into number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

“Well? Which one is it?” Greg asked. Scorpius just looked lost and confused. The excitement of the past few days now lost in the early morning drizzle, as well as in the tearful goodbyes of Lucius and Narcissa. 

“Wait. Just wait.” Like his father, Draco had taken to using a walking stick on occasions. He tapped it solidly on the sidewalk pavement, his wand nestled safely inside it. He muttered the words of the Fidelius charm revealing the secret. Slowly and painstakingly the two houses before them started to separate and their own new home began to show, little by little. Greg gaped and Scorpius’s eyes grew large, his laughter bursting from him and spilling over into giggles. 

Draco watched as their home, where he’d make a new life with his son, slowly appeared. Aware that the house could only be seen by those he revealed it to, he had taken the time and expense to decorate the outside of the house in ways he thought would please a four year old. Scorpius was a devoted fan of Babbitty Rabbitty, Martin the Mad Muggle, not to mention Harry Potter, hero and all around saviour, as well as something called Bob the Builder. 

Each level of the house was painted a different colour, and at each and every window one of the different heroes of his son’s affection appeared in various costumes. The front door was covered in serpent designs, the door handle, the hinges, even the front bell. Draco hadn’t changed any of these, what he had done was add some humour to it. A few cross eyes, and spotted fangs, made them a lot more welcoming to a little boy. Yet with a mere flick of his wand, he could turn the house, and its front door, back into the grim and forbidding structure it had been. 

Draco reached out, firmly took hold of Scorpius' small hand, and crossed the street. Greg hefted the satchel that held their belongings, including the furniture he and Scorpius had chosen to bring, and followed. 

Draco removed his wand from the walking stick as they entered the house, prepared to use it if need be. There was no need for his son to be terrified in his new home like Draco had been his first few visits. The only disturbance they encountered was the sound of Walburga’s constant and bloodcurdling screams, until she’d realised than none of them were Mudblood or blood-traitors. Terrifying, yes, but he’d done his best to try and prepare Scorpius for it and Greg as well.

Blaise had assured him it was better for Draco than it was whenever Harry Potter had lived there. That tidbit of information, however pleasing, did little to ease Draco’s headache. 

It had taken some of Draco’s most persuasive skills to convince Blaise that he was interested in the house. 

“What about number 12 Grimmauld place? My mother used to tell me about visiting there as a young girl. I understand it might be available.”

The wizarding grapevine held that Potter and his family had moved out and was now living in Godric’s Hollow. Draco didn’t know the reason, nor did he care. A home in London was what he wanted and this one was vacant. There was also the familial connection. By rights, the old Draco would have thought, it should have been his.

“I don’t think it's right for you,” Blaise had said. “We should look for somewhere more modern, a bit nicer.”

“I don’t want anyplace nicer or more modern. I want Grimmauld Place. I know it’s just sitting empty, and falling into disrepair. It’s been on the market at least two years. I’m willing to take it as is.” 

“You know Harry Potter’s the owner, right?” 

“Of course, everyone knows that. You should hear my father’s tirade about it. Are you telling me that Potter won’t lease it to me? That’s absurd.”

Draco was just getting ready to launch into a tirade of his own about Potter and his persecution of Draco, when Blaise interrupted him, “Frankly, I think Harry would lease the place to Bellatrix, as long as he doesn’t have to live there.” 

Draco paused, skeptical of what Blaise was saying. “Why?”

“Too many ghosts.”

“You mean too many memories of his godfather, and other members of the Order?” 

Blaise had hesitated, “Sure, that’s exactly what I meant.”

But, Draco had soon learned, that was not at all what Blaise had meant.

***

Barely had they entered the long hallway when with a loud crack , a house elf from the manor stood in front of them. A brightly coloured and flowered hat perched on her head. Tears flowed from her bulging eyes. 

“Mistress Narcissa Malfoy has given Bimidi a hat. Bimidi is now a free elf.” She trembled as she spoke, and Draco had to wonder how she truly felt about her emancipation. “Bimidi is choosing to serve the young master Draco Malfoy and his son, Scorpius.” 

“Does my father know about this?” he asked.

Bimidi shook her head. “Mistress Narcissa Malfoy said it is best him not be knowing.”

Draco stifled a laugh as the small elf place her finger against her lips, a signal for secret keeping. He felt a rush of gratitude. Bimidi had been his personal house-elf since he was twelve, when Dobby had somehow obtained his own freedom. His father still refused to talk about it. Bimidi had been young and experienced but eager to learn. Over the past months she had earned his gratitude for her gentle care of Scorpius. 

Scorpius wriggled out of his grasp, ran to Bimidi and threw his arms around her. “Now everyone’s here,” he said firmly before he turned and ran off excited to begin exploring his new home.

Moments later, Scorpius’s excited cry echoed through the house. Startled, Draco turned towards the stairs. Blaise, who had been waiting for them inside, reached out to stop him. “Don’t worry about it. I imagine he’s simply found the playroom with the toys that once belonged to Sirius and Regulus Black. I’m sure the Potter boys, James and Albus left some of theirs as well. Harry and his family hardly took anything with them when they left. I doubt they’d mind if Scorpius wanted to play with them.”

Draco climbed the stairs to the second floor where his son sat cross legged on the floor. Miniature Hogwarts Express, Horseless Carriages, that were in reality pulled by tiny transparent Thestrals, and Knight Buses zoomed around the room, all without the use of a wand. Training to control Scorpius’ magic would need to begin soon. 

He and Greg had their work cut out for them. By agreeing to take it as is and do the work themselves, he had saved himself a lot of money on the rent. In turn, he’d indentured himself to months of hard work. 

Wallpaper hung in strips and what remained on the wall was so disgustingly filthy he feared to touch it. Absolutely forbade Scorpius to, until he’d blasted it with a couple of extra strong cleaning charms. The carpet was completely threadbare, and as well seemed to be the home of many species of small creatures, magical and non.

Greg had taken one look at the portraits of Black family, blackened with grime and said, “I think I’m going to demand a raise if you expect me to clean those.” He’d said even less when they had come across the row of house-elf heads that lined one of the hallways, giving Draco a look and shaking his head. “Not in this or a thousand lifetime,” and walked out. 

It had taken Draco three full days and lots of anti-dark arts magic to remove the heads, but eventually he’d succeeded. 

He’d complained about the conditions of the house, but Blaise had only acknowledged that Harry had done virtually nothing to the house during the years he’d lived there. There was always something else for him to focus on. New job, new wife, new baby one after the other. Plus Potter had recently begun to hate living in the house, swearing it was now haunted. 

The structure and layout of the house remained much as he’d remembered from the stories his mother and aunt had told of visiting during the holidays. Draco planned to change just about all of it. 

For now, the basement with its dark and dreary and very outdated kitchen would have to stay as would the main floor’s formal entrance and dining hall. 

He planned on opening up the first floor parlour to allow in more light. A small library as well as an area for Scorpius and his friends to play in, would be a nice addition. 

The second floor was to be Draco’s personal space, the master bedroom, dressing room and ensuite bath. If he used the magical expansion correctly, he thought he could probably manage to fit a small potions lab in it as well. But if not, never mind, he intended to make the fourth floor nothing but his work space with lots of storage space for ingredients, a fully functioning floo network, and room for numerous cauldrons to be used at the same time. 

But first he’d needed to prepare the third floor for Scorpius and Greg, as well the study he planned on putting between the two rooms. Scorpius would soon want to learn magic and history and theory. All the things Draco had been interested in at a young age. As well, he knew Greg would one day want to find employment of his own, outside of being a companion and caregiver. He could use the space for his studies as well.

The fifth floor of the house, Draco had set aside for the House-Elves' use. Kreacher, who’d refused to be parted from his home, and Montego, whom Potter had borrowed from Delores Umbridge’s house to help Kreacher. Blaise had told him he’d heard Granger and Potter had argued so loud and so long over it that the neighbors on each side had complained to the Muggle authorities, each blaming the noise on the other. 

It was while exploring the fourth floor that Draco had first come across the portrait. It took him a while to recognise who it was; blackened with grime and grease and covered with cobwebs, and Merlin knew what else. He knew it wasn’t Sirius Black, although there was a strong resemblance. And from the clothing and style of hair and other things, he knew it was fairly recent. The thing was, the dammed thing kept staring at him. Truthfully, he stared back at it, just as intently. Something about it drew his attention.

Only by examining the family tree in the parlour was he able to distinguish who it was, Regulus Black. Draco knew little or nothing about him. Only rumours of how the Dark Lord had had him killed for some misdeed. There had been tales, told to him as a small child, told by Death-eaters that had come to tea on Sunday and enjoyed scaring small boys. But what Regulus had done and how the Dark Lord had killed him, no one seemed to know for sure. Somehow the portrait of the young man didn’t look that terrifying. Instead, Draco thought he looked just a bit lost and confused by what his role in this life was meant to be. 

***

Little under a month later, he was interrupted at his work. The doxies and other creatures that had moved back in after Potter had left were determined to not be so easily vanquished this time. Draco was just as determined they would. The result was he was currently filthy and drenched in sweat from the ongoing battle. 

Bimidi popped in, took one look at Draco and squeaked. Draco turned towards her. He was in no mood for house-elf theatrics. 

“Yes, Bimidi?”

“Mister Lucius Malfoy and Mistress Narcissa Malfoy, being your parents and the grandparents of Scorpius Malfoy is requesting permission to enter and perhaps have tea with their one and only grandson, the Scorpius Malfoy mentioned previously.”

Draco stared at her. great Merlin alive, this self-improvement course in deportment she had undertaken was going to drive him to drink

“Wait. What? Fuck! Did you just say my parents are here?” She bobbed her head in the affirmative. That was just what he needed. He’d have to use Scorpius to stall them while he showered and made himself more presentable. He had to give it to them; their timing as usual was impeccable in ruining his day. 

“Fine please show them in: take Scorpius down with you. Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I’ve showered and dressed more appropriately. Do not tell them how filthy I really was.”

Barely had they finished their tea, sending Scorpius back to play, when his father had finally got around to what they’d come for.

“I’m sorry Draco, but after today, you no longer have access to the Gringott’s account. One of the codicils of my Will was that you must remain in residence at the manor to be able to have access the Malfoy money or estate. By your moving out, and staying out past the sixty days allowed for youthful rebellion, you’ve violated the terms of your inheritance. “

“Couldn’t you change it? After all, Wills can be rewritten.”

“I could, but I’m not. You are no longer my heir. Scorpius is. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t come into his inheritance until he reaches the age of majority, seventeen. In case you were thinking of having him get the money out of the account for you.” Lucius leaned forward in the chair with his walking stick helping to support him. He’d always made it look as it was nothing but a style statement; Draco knew the time in Azkaban had weakened him. 

Draco wanted nothing more than to kick the snake headed cane out from under him.

“Draco darling, you must return to the manor. Once you do, I’m sure your father will be glad to reinstate you as his heir.”

“You mean give up this house?” But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave here. The house embraced him, made him feel he was part of it and it part of him. Each evening after he’d finished for the day, he loved to turn the lights down and stand at the window and watch the sun set and the light begin to come up across the city. Sometimes it would be clear and he could see all the way to the Angel Clock tower, and other times the fog would roll in and he could barely see the houses on the on the other side of the street. 

“Leave here? Never. Somehow, I’ll find a way. Please see yourselves out. I’m sure the house-elves are busy. “

In the end, it had been Regulus that had helped them on their way. He hadn’t bothered with the niceties of returning their cloaks or hats to them either.

****

Draco sipped his scotch, his third if he was counting, and looked across the room where Regulus stood before the tapestry, beside the burn mark where his Aunt Andromeda’s name had once been.

“Thank you. I doubt I could have got rid of them so effectively on my own,” Draco said, remembering the first time Regulus had made his presence known. 

The draperies had been drawn closed when Draco awoke after their first night. He remembered having pulled them open just before he’d retired, preferring to wake to the morning sun. Merlin knew the house was dark enough even with them opened. He’d muttered a few curses about the over effectiveness of house-elves and opened them, letting the morning light in. 

This same routine had gone on for several mornings before he’d finally lost his temper. 

“Whichever one of the bloody house-elves keeps doing this, if they don’t stop--” He paused, not sure what he’d do. “I may just have to buy a pair of shoes, one for each.” 

“I like them closed.” A voice low and sort of gravely said from behind him.

He’d not even thought about who, or what, was possibly speaking when he’d’ snapped back, “and I like them open and it’s my house.” 

“It was mine first, and technically it’s not yours. You’re just leasing it.”

Reality, a bit late, rushed in. Draco turned slowly, very slowly around. There he, (or was it an it? He wasn’t sure about pronoun usage in the spirit realm) the boy – man -- from the portrait. The thought of being afraid crossed his mind, but fuck it, he’d lived in terror because of the Dark Lord for so long, he’d be damned if he was going to let some ghostly apparition scare him.

The house was haunted, how perfectly brilliant. 

“Yes, well I’m still alive and you’re dead,” he’d quipped back in response.

The ghost had stared at him for moment before it started to laugh. “And your point would be?”

Draco had had to concede defeat at that. There really wasn’t much of a point. 

Reg had taken to visiting him two or three times a week after that. They didn’t talk much just sat in the darkening gloom together night after night. Natural light might be an almost necessity to Draco during the day, but the glow of firelight was his preference in the evening.

When Draco had insisted that the portrait of Regulus Black be moved from the fourth floor to Draco’s bedroom on the second floor Greg had not said a word; just looked at Draco questioningly. Even Draco wasn’t sure why he’d done it; only that he’d been compelled to do so. Having it in his room made him feel at peace. 

Kreacher had had some objections however. He spent most of his time on the fourth floor staring rapturously at the portrait that hung there. Kreacher gave it a periodic wipe with a cloth. Draco could only imagine it was some misguided attempt at cleaning. In the eyes of Kreacher, Draco could do no wrong. 

That had changed the moment Draco had tried to levitate the portrait off the wall. .

‘Where is Draco Malfoy, the non-owner, only borrower of the great and noble house of Black going with that portrait of the young master Regulus Black?” Kreacher had planted himself directly between Draco and the portrait. He made no visible signs of movement, yet Draco had felt the pull of another’s magic fighting his. 

“Kreacher, are you trying to keep from taking the portrait?” 

“Kreacher is only making sure the portrait stays where it belongs. It has hung there for many years, ever since my mistress had it moved. When the pain of seeing it in the parlour brought her much sadness. My master Regulus was only seventeen years old when this was painted, just months before he disappeared, never to be seen again.” The house-elf began wringing his hands together and sniffling, drops of snot hung from his nose. Draco frowned in disgust. “It has only ever hung here or in the parlour. Does Draco Malfoy intend to return it the parlour?” 

He’d looked so hopeful, that Draco had really hated to disappoint him, but he had. 

The elf cried piteously then and beat his head against the floor. “Kreacher should not argue with Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter told Kreacher that Draco Malfoy was now the one who lived in the house. But Kreacher knows he is not the true owner. Kreacher does not have to do what Draco Malfoy wants. If he doesn’t though, Draco Malfoy may complain to Harry Potter, who is the owner of the house, and Harry Potter might punish Kreacher for disobeying. Harry Potter has never punished Kreacher before, but he is a great and powerful wizard, it was he that killed the Dark—“ 

Draco couldn’t take it another moment, he’d had enough.

“Stop that! Potter is not going to punish you. But, you’re right. He has given me permission to do what I will. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?” He’d raised his eyebrows hoping Kreacher would understand.

The house elf sobbed even louder. .

“Look, if I promise that you can come and visit it every day, at the same time each day, then can I take it?” 

Kreacher had agreed enthusiastically, if somewhat tearfully.

“Fine, we’ll work something out. Now, please release your magic, or at least turn it towards helping me.” 

Every afternoon after that between the hours of two and four, Kreacher sat on the floor in Draco’s room gazing in adoration at the portrait of his young master. The crotchety old house-elf was now so happy it was hard to believe he was the same Kreacher. 

He’d even begun to share the locket, allowing Draco to wear it on some days. Draco didn’t understand the significance of the locket but Regulus had been strangely touched by Kreacher’s generosity. 

“He doesn’t have to share the locket with you, you know. Harry gave it to him fair and square.” 

Draco had questioned Reg about the significance of the locket, but Regulus had only told him, “you’ll learn all about it -- in time.” 

***

His glass was now empty, and a fourth might be overdoing it. He couldn’t afford the get wasted. Draco put his head in his hands. “Fuck, what am I going to do?” 

“Right now, I suggest you go and find your son. He needs you.” 

Draco was soon beside himself. Fear gripped him. Scorpius was missing. Draco looked everywhere, enlisting the help of Greg and Bimidi as well. Then he’d remembered Scorpius during one of his explorations of the house, had found a small cupboard under the back stairs. Wanting to follow in the footsteps of one of his favourite stories, Harry Potter and the Cupboard Under the Stairs Scorpius had claimed it for his own. He had taken to going there whenever he pretended to be Harry Potter. Something, to Draco’s absolute horror, he did regularly. No amount of bad press from Draco or Greg, about Potter, had dissuaded him from his hero worship. 

Draco found his son, curled up on the small bed Draco had brought in, the blanket Astoria had made clenched in one hand, and the thumb of the other stuck firmly in his mouth. Tear tracks lined his cheeks and the remnants clung to his lashes, and his breathing was clogged. 

Draco motioned Greg and Bimidi away. He needed to handle this on his own. 

He stood for a moment in the doorway, watching and listening. The love he felt for his son rose in him and squeezed his heart so hard; it was almost more than he could bear. Yet he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t stand against to protect this child, to keep him happy and safe. 

“Scorpius?” he said softly, as he walked into the room. 

Scorpius woke with a jerk. “Daddy? I don’t want to go back to the manor. I want to stay here. Please, can we stay here?” His lower lip trembled and the next thing Draco knew he had a lap full of sobbing four year old. 

All he could do was stroke his son’s back and repeat over and over, “No, we’re not going back. We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to stay right here. This is our home.” All the time hoping against hope that he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. 

***

He stayed under the stream of the shower longer than usual. The force of the water as it pounded out and massaged the kinks from his overused muscles had been so delicious, that he’d refreshed the heating spell several times over. 

***

Draco stepped from the shower, relaxed and at ease. Bending over, drying his feet and space between his toes, he heard the soft sigh of another. 

He spun around, straightening and pulling the towel in front of him as he did. 

Regulus, partially obscured by the steam from the shower, was in front of the W.C. His eyes glinted appreciatively and roved up and down Draco’s body. 

Emboldened by the approval he saw in Reg’s eyes, Draco let the towel drop. Exhibitionism had always been a bit of turn on for Draco. His body being admired and appreciated had been very arousing. He found it still was. Many months had passed since he’d felt this aroused. Sadly, there was no one but himself and a ghost to enjoy it. 

“Draco, never let anyone tell you that you don’t have a body to admire.” Regulus licked his lips and Draco preened under the compliment. “You’re even more beautiful than your father was.” 

“My father? You mean, you and him?” Somehow the thought of his Reg, and just when did he become his Reg? and Draco’s father, began a deflation he was not yet ready for. 

Regulus laughed, and Zeus above, how Draco loved the sound of that laugher. “No, but we did share the same showers. I was a first year when he was a seventh. As you know Slytherins, especially ones like you and your father are not opposed to showing off their bodies. I was young, but I recognized exquisiteness when I saw it. Oh, you’re getting dressed. That’s too bad.” Reg’s voice was soft and sad.

“Yes, I am. I’ve things still to do this evening. I have to put some clothes on. I don’t think Greg or the House-Elves would appreciate me not.”

Reg muttered something about, “not my problem’, but otherwise remained quiet.

“You know, that portrait of you doesn’t do you justice. You’re much handsomer than that. You’ve such a wonderful smile, so warm and natural. It’s too bad the artist didn’t catch that,” he said in reply.

“Please, don’t you know? No good and decent Black would ever be caught smiling in an official portrait, especially one of a young and upcoming Death-Eater. Think about it. Have your ever seen a portrait of a smiling Death-eater?” ” 

“No, not even my crazy Aunt Bellatrix. She just looked insane.” 

“As well she might, since she was.” Regulus agreed. 

***

Draco stood at the window, watching the pedestrians, Muggle and Wizard, walk back and forth in front of his house. At long last, they’d succeeded in cleaning the windows of decades of grim. As a result they sparkled, and the heavy damask draperies were free of all doxies and other creatures of a microscopic nature as well. 

Much time and effort, and love, had gone into making this house his home. The last thing he wanted was to have to leave it. Only he didn’t know how he could afford to stay. 

A strong hand clasped his shoulder nearly frightening him into making Scorpius an orphan. “Fuck!” he screeched as he spun around.

Harry Potter stood behind him managing to look both amused and contrite, with a bit of cowering thrown in for good measure.

“For fuck’s sake Potter, you almost just resolved my problem of finding a way to pay for the house by putting me into an early grave. If you’d wanted to kill me you could have just done it the old-fashioned, tried and true way, and AK’d me.” His heart still beating a tattoo in his chest, Draco collapsed against the window sill.

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d heard me. I made enough noise to wake Arcturus. I’m surprised the dulcet tones of Walburga didn’t alert you,” Potter said, accioing a chair over and sitting next to where Draco stood. 

Draco shrugged. “I’ve become so used to her constant bellowing; she’s like that big clock. Big Ben, I think it’s called. You know it’s there, but you just stop hearing it, until you need to. Luckily, there’s seldom a need to hear that noisy old hag.”

Potter laughed. 

Draco was unsure what to make of Potter these days; it was almost as if they were becoming friends, of a sort. At least, they had progressed beyond threatening each other on twice daily bases. That reminded him:

“What did you want anyway, Potter? Was there a reason you almost caused me to expire from shock?”

“Erm, yes.” Potter sort of shuffled the toe of his trainer. Surely the man can afford better shoes by now. 

Draco waited, but nothing followed. “Yes. What?” he prompted.

“I came to tell you that you’re welcome to stay in the house rent free. You could be like, the caretaker or something. If you want.” 

“Why? I mean, why would you do this? Merlin knows, although we don’t seem to hate each other anymore, you don’t owe me any favours.” He was honestly confused by the offer.

“It’s more your home that it ever was mine. It feels content. Even wicked Walburga’s not as wickedly verbal as she used to be. You can feel it the moment you walk into the door now.”

Draco paused to think about what Potter had just said. It was true. The house did feel at peace, like it had known that this generation’s true master was now in residence. In those few seconds, he made his decision. 

“No,” he said quite unexpectedly. “I won’t be the caretaker.”

Potter’s face flushed red. He surged to his feet, but before he stormed out, he looked to have a few unpleasant words he wanted to say first. 

Draco, realising what he’d just done, rushed in before Potter could gather a good head of steam. 

“Potter, wait! I’m sorry that didn’t come out how I meant.” Draco hoped he looked penitent, because he sure felt it. “I mean I don’t want to be just the caretaker. I want to be the owner of the house. I want to purchase it from you. This house needs the guidance of a strong master, someone that is part of the family that has always owned it. I think that was why it was so important to me that I move here.” 

He waited for Potter to say something. Instead Potter just stood, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Draco tried to swallow, wishing he had a drink of some kind at hand, to help ease the dryness of his mouth. 

“Besides, I don’t want to be beholden to you. I want to prove to Scorpius, and to others whose opinion matters to me, that I can provide a home for him. Someplace that he and his children, grandchildren and even beyond can always call home.” 

“What about the Manor? Isn’t that Scorpius’ inheritance?” Potter asked. 

“The Manor is my son’s inheritance from his grandfather. I’d like him to have one from me as well.”

“What about my children? Don’t they deserve an inheritance?”

“That’s what Godric’s Hollow is for isn’t it? Also you’re Harry Potter, I’m sure you’d have no problem finding a new home. Not so much an ex Death-Eater, even a reformed one.”

Slowly, Potter began to smile. The smile seemed to start from somewhere deep inside him and grow and magnify until it burst forth from him. It was so genuine; Draco could begin to see why Potter’s friends were so dedicated to him.

“It’s a deal. But I’m not going to just give it to you, or cut you any slack off the asking price. Well not much anyway. It’ll be at fair market value,” Potter said as he tried to look stern and businesslike. Which, really, when Draco thought about it, was a bit of a joke.

“Agreed. Though, I fully expect a discount based on the age and the poor condition I found it in when I moved in." Luckily he’d not yet completed all the improvements. He’d have to make sure he kept a full and accurate accounting from now on. 

Potter accioed another chair over; this time for Draco. “Before we get started on the details of the contract though, I must ask. Do you have plans for how you’re going to pay for it? I hate to ask, but I thought that was part of the problem with continuing the lease.” 

“I appreciate your concern. Not yet, but I will, never fear. When there’s something I truly want I usually find a way.” He then had to laugh at the look of trepidation on Potter’s face at exactly how he imagined Draco might be planning to earn the money. “Don’t worry Potter it’ll be both legal and moral. At least more or less,” he’d finished with a wink.

By the time Potter left three hours later, they were friends. They’d shared lunch and a few liquid libations afterward. Several feet of parchment spread out between them, with different coloured inks and highlights as well as cross-outs and rewrites. The contract was at last signed. Potter had become Harry; Draco was no longer Malfoy, at least not exclusively. Harry would take his copy to Hermione for inspection and Draco’s to the Malfoy’s solicitors. Once approved by the legal experts they would present it to the Wizarding Board of Land and Residents Management. 

Their friendship firmly established, Harry proposed to bring his young crew over on some Saturday afternoon. His three and Scorpius were sure to get along, although, Lily, the baby, might be a bit young yet. The boys, or so he’d said were sure to be great friends. 

“Mind you, they’re a bit rough and tumble," Potter had said. “Being so close to each other in age, and having all those Weasley cousins, they’ve had to learn not to take any abuse from anyone, but they’re good boys. They’d never hurt anyone intentionally.” 

It would do Scorpius some good to learn to play, rough and tumble even, with others. Draco didn’t want him growing up cocky, pretending to be fearless, when underneath he was terrified of his own shadow. “I can’t wait to tell him. He’ll be so excited, I’ll have to watch…” he stopped abruptly. As close as he and Harry might be, it would serve no purpose to mention Scorpius’ bedwetting problem. Scorpius was still young, and he’d been through a lot, for one so young. 

Harry made no indication he’d even noticed Draco’s abrupt ending. He departed soon after, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. As he often did these days whenever he was alone, Draco talked out loud, wanting to vocalize his thoughts. It made him think better, or so he thought.

“I know he’s lonely, misses his mother. I’ve just been so busy getting the house in order, trying to make a home for us; I’ve not spent the time with him I should have. I only hope I can be a better father to him than mine was to me.” 

“There’s no need for you to worry. You already are.” Draco turned. Reg sat in the chair recently vacated by Harry. 

“Do you mind my asking? Why her? Why did you marry her?” Draco was surprised by the question. 

“I don’t know. She was attractive, beautiful in fact, a pure-blood from a prominent Wizarding family. I enjoyed spending time with her at the center, where I did my community service. And she admired me,” he answered after some thought.

“All perfectly legitimate reasons, but did she know what she was getting into when she married you?” 

“I think so. She said she did.” 

“Did you love her?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Did you? Really? From the beginning?” 

“Maybe not at first, but I grew to love her. She was worth loving. She was as gentle and genteel as my mother, yet with a wicked and cutthroat sense of humour much like Pansy’s. Merlin she was so funny, always pulling pranks yet also doing little things to let you know how much she loved you, and cared.” He couldn’t seem to stop, just finally allowed the memories to surround him.

Regulus sat quietly, never interrupting just letting him talk. Soon the tears began to fall. He missed her so much, and raising a child by himself was so much harder than he had ever imagined. 

“What makes you think, I’m a better father, than mine was? How do you know?” 

“I know because I see how you are as an adult. I see how you try so hard to be sure your son does not suffer the same…, the same doubts as you did and still do. You hide them well with your occasional pompousness, but I know and can see the real you. Oh, don’t give me that face. You know it’s true.” 

Draco scowled at him but wisely said nothing.

“When are you going to have to start your payments on the house?” 

“Harry’s giving me six months before the first payment is due. We get three months' credit for the previous work already done, and another three for the work still to come. Plus he’s giving me a really good price for the house. Something this large, this close to Diagon Alley could be sold for a much higher price

“Even with its own live-in ghost?” Reg asked with a bit of a smirk. “I noticed he’s now Harry. When did that happen?”

“I imagine you know exactly when I happened. But if you want to continue pretending you weren’t sitting right there and watching, then it happened about two hours ago, when we started talking about the house and me purchasing it.” 

“I think I may have begun to get bored about then. Do you have any thoughts?” Reg asked. 

“Not yet, but I’ll let you know, when I think of something.” 

***

Harry, and his offspring, became regular fixtures at the house after that. Draco refused all offers of help from Harry. While Draco and the house-elves worked, Harry and Greg argued politics, as well as the best way to make the flakiest crust for pies and pasties. Harry remained Potter in Greg’s mind, and Greg would always be Goyle to Harry, yet somehow they found a way. 

The three boys became practically inseparable, with the eldest Potter boy requesting an ‘owling’ for his birthday so he and Albus could send ‘hoots’ back and forth to Scorpius.

When Harry had first told him about this, his reaction had been, “What the fuck is a ‘hoot’? Isn’t an owling just a baby owl? Why would they want one of those, they can’t carry messages that young. Can they?” 

Harry had laughed shaking his head. “No, it’s some sort of cryptic, abbreviated method of talking to each other, the young are using. Teddy had to explain it to me. I hadn’t a clue before that.”

“I’m quite sure Scorpius is unaware of such things,” Draco had huffed.

Harry just laughed some more. “You want to bet. He’s the one who asked James to request the owling so they could start. He’s already got your ‘market owl’ making side excursions to our house with his own “hoot” communications, only they’re not very clear. Owls don’t have the right degree of training, only ‘owling’s.” 

Draco was stunned at this. Suddenly from a few feet behind Potter, deep, rich baritone laughter rang out. Draco tried his best to look alarmed and not to smile. 

Surprisingly, Harry did not turn and run screeching from the house. Instead he looked around, interested in where the sound was coming from. “I guess he does still here, I see, or rather, hear. I thought perhaps he might have left, since you hadn’t said anything or moved out after the first night.”

“You know about Reg?” Draco was truly surprised.

“Reg? Oh, so it is Regulus. I thought it might be. And of course I knew. Why do you think I had Blaise tell you the house had too many ghosts for me, or anyone I called a friend to occupy?” 

Privately, Draco thought, Harry thinking of them as friends at that stage of the game was being a bit presumptuous, if not an outright fabrication. Sure Harry had testified on his behalf at the trial, helping him to get probation and community service, instead of Azkaban, but he sure wouldn’t have call them friends. Prudently, he chose to say nothing, however.

“What did you think he meant when he told you that?” Harry was still talking. “Oh gods! He did tell you, didn’t he? I’m so sorry, if he didn’t.” 

“Relax Harry. Yes he told me. Even if he hadn’t I’d have known it by now. Being as Reg showed up not three days after we’d moved in. He tried to scare me away, but I told him to his face, that I refused to be scared anymore.” 

“Hold on.” Harry turned to face him. “You saw him?” 

“Yes. Shouldn’t I have?”

“I never did. I heard him. Fuck, we all heard him. Noisy wanker, it was hard not to. But no, he never let any of us see him.” 

As Harry talked, Draco remembered his first sight of Regulus. How he’d been both terrified and irritated, yet intrigued by the idea of living in a haunted house. 

“Draco? You alright? You sort of went away there for a while,” Harry said.

“Just remembering. I’m fine.”

“Does it scare you? Is he horrible to you? Turning out lights, making you trip going up and down the stairs, constantly opening and closing the windows exactly opposite of what you want.” Harry leaned forward asking him the questions.

Draco could only shake his head. “No, none of that has happened.” It wasn’t exactly true; there had been a bit of a tussle of wills between them, especially in regards to the opening or closing of draperies. 

Out of nowhere, Harry blurted out, “Is he really as handsome as he is in that portrait that hangs on the fourth floor?” 

The portrait no longer hung on the fourth floor, but rather in Draco’s room, but that wasn’t for Harry to know.

“Erm, more so,” was what he said instead. “In the portrait, he’s very stern and gruff. In truth, he has a lovely smile. One of his incisors is just a bit crooked, making him look sort of pirate like. And his laugh, well you heard it; it's so rich and deep. He’s an amazing sense of humour and loves to be wicked—safe not dangerous—just fun.” Draco found himself leaning forward, excited to finally be talking with someone about the man he’d grown so fond of, even if it was a ghost. 

Harry was looking at him, with surprise and affection. “You’re in love with him.” Harry’s voice held no doubt. It was if he’d seen directly into Draco’s heart.

“What? No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a ghost.” Draco frantically tried to deny it, but Harry just kept grinning at him.

“It’s gonna be a mite tricky trying to have a physical relationship, is it not? Of course I guess there’s always the purity of deep spiritual and romantic love.” Harry winked at him, holding his hand to his heart and batting his eyelashes. “I wonder what Sirius would think of this relationship? Two very different, but both once hard core Death-Eaters find love with one another.” 

 

Draco didn’t want to talk about his past, he wanted to talk about Regulus some more. Harry had just mentioned the older brother Sirius; surprisingly the ghost of Reg’s older brother had never made an appearance. Then again, Draco had never seen any portraits of Sirius in the house.

“You were close with your godfather weren’t’ you?” he asked. 

Harry blushed and then frowned. “What do you mean, close?”

“I didn’t mean anything. Should I have? He was very handsome. I’ll have to admit, there were a few times when I wanked to his photo in the Prophet.”

Harry looked at Draco in horrified shock and suddenly burst out laughing. “You wanked over that? Gods you must have been desperate for wank material. That photo was horrible. He was much handsomer than that; had this dead sexy voice too. But no, nothing happened between us. I just had a huge crush on him. If I’d have been just a few years older, and not so concentrated on staying alive, I’d have done my best to seduce him into letting me give him a blow job – or more. Though now, I know how wrong that would have been.” 

Realising what they had just revealed to the other, they both began laughing and raised their glasses in a toast and salute to one another. 

“So you’re gay. But you were married and everyone always said how hard you grieved over Astoria when she died?”

“I am, yes, and I did, yes. I loved Astoria very much. I wanted to be straight for her and for my family. And for the years we were married, I remained faithful. Could I have stayed faithful, and straight, had she lived? I’m not sure. But I’ve known all along I was. Gay, that is. What about you? You managed to fuck your wife enough times to have three children, and even I know how seldom conception happens with just one try. Are you sure you play for our team?”

Harry laughed, “Well, truthfully, I think I play for whatever team will let me get on the broom.” 

Draco stopped and gaped at him, speechless, but for only a brief time. Then he too joined Harry on the floor where they both roared with laughter. Draco, realising that most of the humour they were feeling was coming from the almost empty bottle of single-malt scotch he’d found hidden in the cupboard behind the old and unworkable range in the kitchen, found he didn’t care. It felt too good to laugh. 

***

Scorpius, at last, was sleeping peacefully. An afternoon spent with the two Potter boys got him so excited; calming him down for bed was sometimes difficult. Finally after three, or had it been four, stories, his eyes had begun to drift shut and his breathing slowed. Draco had turned the light down with a gentle nox as he left the room. If anyone would have told Draco back in his Hogwarts days how much he would come to love these bedtime moments with his son, he would have thought them spell-damaged.

“Have you given more thought to the solution?” Reg asked appearing before him. So close that the briny smell of the ocean and its creatures was stronger than usual. There was always a faint scent of the sea that surrounded Reg. Draco didn’t understand the reason why, and Regulus would not talk about it, but Draco knew something had happened. Regulus was terrified of the sea. 

Absorbed in a documentary about the North Sea one evening, Draco had not realised what was happening near him, until Reg’s nervousness had become too pronounced to ignore. Moaning, swaying, trembling, first standing and then sitting back immediately, Reg’s agitation increased as the show progressed. Reg had moved from room to room, wringing his hands and muttering to himself. 

Draco had done his best to calm him, talking with him calmly and soothing like he did with Scorpius whenever he’d been fearful. But Regulus had been inconsolable, his fear driving him to terrifying screams of panic. Only when Draco turned the station off completely had Reg finally begun to calm. He’d disappeared from the room moments later. Reg still refused to talk about why he’d been so frightened.

Draco put his cup of tea down and looked up with a smile of greeting, but then frowned. “I still think using Blaise as a broker for selling—“

Reg interrupted before he could continue. “I thought we’d agreed that was a bad idea. Besides they don’t belong to you. Everything in this house before you moved in belongs to Potter. He might be willing to sell some of the contents with the house, but not these.”

“No, we didn’t. You said it was a bad idea; I never agreed with you. It is the fastest and best way for me to earn the money, and the house is full of them.” 

“Hasn’t this family been shunned enough, in the eyes of the public? I won’t have you besmirch it even more by selling dark artifacts; or by whoring yourself out if that was plan B. Although I must admit you’d most likely do rather well at that. But you still seem to keep forgetting that Mr Potter may object to you selling his dark artifacts to the public. They aren’t yours to sell.” 

“What other choice have I?" Draco’s frustration was high, but he couldn’t help it. “I can’t get a potions license; the Ministry keeps blocking my application, even after all this time. And contrary to your backhanded compliment, I’m not desperate enough yet to prostitute myself.”

Reg made no response and the silence deepened around them. Unlike most of their shared silences this was filled with tension.

“I have an idea, you know,” Reg said. Draco was surprised to hear doubt and hesitation. 

Relieved that the silence had been broken, he shifted his body so he could lean in closer. “You do? What is it?” They’d learned they couldn’t touch; Reg’s hand went right through Draco’s body. and didn’t that leave a strange and uncomfortable feeling . But he wanted to be as close as possible to his ghostly guest.

Regulus looked down, bashfully?, and Draco felt sure that if a ghost could blush, Reg would be. “You could write a book, or something, about what really happened to me. You know. About how I died.” 

“But no one knows how you died. I mean there are rumours, but no one knows for sure.” All anyone knew was that Regulus must have done something to anger the Dark lord and had paid for it.

“I know what happened to me. I know how I died, or was forced to my death. Very few knew the truth of what I did, or how at the end I turned from Voldemort. Yes Draco, I can say his name without fear.” Reg stopped talking and stared into space. “Kreacher almost lost his life because of him. Did you know that? Thankfully he was able to escape, but it was that total lack of regard for a completely innocent being that helped me see the truth.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Not many do, but Draco, here’s what you need to know. My life wasn’t very wise, or certainly very long, but somehow through it I learned. Wisdom comes when you finally understand that the person you’ve admired most in your life is also the most dangerous. Our families, yours and mine, have always been such fools when it comes to power and those that we think may wield it. All of those Death-Eaters and other supporters of the Dark Lord and the glory he was going to bring to our side, who never realized how dangerous to our world he truly was. And because of that constant support, he came to believe that we would be willing to sacrifice anything to his cause” 

“Do you really believe others are going to be interested in the biography of a former Death Eater? I don’t mean to seem glum, and I think your story is fascinating, but remember I carry the mark as well, and so far, there’s not been an out pouring of interest in anything I have to say.”

“I think there could be. We just have to make it so thrilling they can't wait to finish it.”

“First, we have to convince them to buy it, not to mention publish it.” He found the idea of writing a book intriguing, but wasn’t feeling too confident about either of the aforementioned obstacles. 

“That’s where your friend Harry Potter’s going to come in. He can help promote it.” 

Draco snorted. “Yes and perhaps leprechauns really will make sure there’s a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow. Look, Harry’s becoming my friend, but he won’t do anything he doesn’t believe in. I’m just not sure he’ll want to support the memoirs of an ex Death Eater.”

“As he and his two friends are the only ones, besides Kreacher, that know the truth of what happened, I think he’ll be glad to help.” 

“Potter knows?”

Reg stood. “Think on it. That’s all I ask. It might be your answer.” 

***

Draco chewed nervously on his thumbnail, what was left of it. George Weasley told another off-coloured joke and the table again busted up in laughter and the chatter continued. Would these people never go home and see to their children? He needed to talk to Harry, but it had to be done when they were alone. Probably best, not to share with just anyone that the ghost you’re in love with wanted you to write a book about their life. Now that he thought about it, the even wiser course of action, was to not share you were in love with a ghost either. 

“Okay Draco, what’s up?” Harry asked once Weasley and Granger had left, and Ginny along with her new beau, Victor Krum, had gone to pick the children up from Molly’s. The three Potters as well as Scorpius were spending the weekend in Godric’s Hollow.

Draco planned to use the time to completely gut and remodel the old kitchen. Harry had agreed to help while Greg was off getting trained on proper care and feeding of blast-ended skrewts from Hagrid. Goyle was apprenticing whenever he could at Hogwarts, as he’d decided he really wanted to be the next Caretaker and Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Draco couldn’t understand the interest; he only asked that Greg keep all magical creatures out of his house. 

To his embarrassment, now that they were alone and Harry was asking, Draco found himself inexplicably tongue-tied. He’d been yearning to share this, to get advice from someone --well Harry, really---for so long. Now he couldn’t seem to say the words.

“Out with it.” Harry laughed, but Draco could tell the Potter patience, what little there was, was rapidly waning.

“Reg wants me to write a book about him, about his life and death and what really happened with the Dark Lord, about how he really died.”

He said it all in a rush, hardly daring to take a breath in between, “He thinks it could be a way for me to make enough for at least several months, maybe even a few years’ worth of payment on the house while I try to find another way to earn an income.” Draco grew silent, and returned to chewing on the nail, while he waited. 

Harry reached out and slapped his hand. “Stop that. You’re not going to have any nail left. I think that’s a brilliant idea. People need to know the truth; need to be reminded of the evil Voldemort really was. As well as letting other know what a true hero Reg was. The courage and the strength it must have taken to admit that you were wrong. Regulus deserves a better place in the history of the war against the Dark Lord. It’s too bad Sirius never knew the truth. I think he would have appreciated his brother’s change of heart.”

“Hey, I just realised, writing this book may take you longer than you think, and you’ll want to make sure you do a good job. I’ll tell you what; I’ll extend the due date of the first payment on the house for a full year.” Harry said as they gathered their stuff and prepared to leave.

***

The fire had burned low; the rest of the house asleep. Even Greg and Bimidi, who shared a passion for the late night infomercials shown on the telly, had called it a night. 

The book was almost finished. Reg had shared so much with Draco. Things about that night in question, yes, but also things about growing up the son of a prominent and pure-blood family, and the expectations placed on him and his brother, Sirius. 

Draco knew all about expectations. He wondered if having a sibling would have made it harder, or easier. 

“Were you and your brother close?” he asked. 

“As small children, yes, I adored him. He was so strong and independent. Never let anyone tell him what to do. Willing to take whatever consequences he faced, to do what he felt was right. I often wonder if he was still alive to know my story, would he, at last, have been proud to call me brother.”

“He sounds a lot like Potter.” 

“The similarity between the two of them is strong. Harry is more like Sirius, than he is his father. James Potter, in my view, was an absolute arse. Then again, perhaps I was resentful. After all, he took my brother from me.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Sirius was barely sixteen, when he and my parents had their last fight, and he ran off to live with the Potters. He never lived in our house again, not while I was still alive.”

“But, hadn’t they disowned him? How could he return?” 

“If he’d have apologized, I’m sure they would have taken him back, especially my father, Sirius was his first born, his heir. I’ll never forget how betrayed we all felt when Sirius left. You know, that was the first and only time I ever saw my father cry. When he had to stand in front of the family tree and blacken his eldest son’s name from the family tapestry.” 

“Didn’t he cry when you died?” Draco had asked softly, his quill lay to the side.

“I don’t know; I never saw. I never returned to the house, as a ghost, until Voldemort had been defeated, the war over and Harry the new owner. Before that, I was completely in the dark, both figuratively and literally. Remember though, my body was never found; they may not have known for sure I was dead.” 

“But Sirius Black would never have apologized, would he? He was too much the Gryffindor. That’d be like one of the Weasleys agreeing to live with my crazy aunt.” 

Regulus shrugged his thin shoulders, the dark green jumper he still wore since the day of his death, rose up to expose a sliver of pale, ghostly pale skin. Regulus was as slender in death, as Draco was in life. “I don’t know, but I never forgave James Potter. By the time I began to realize my mistake in following Voldemort, I could have used my brother’s guidance. But it was too late; we’d grown too far apart.”

Draco continued sitting in the large overstuffed chair, nursing his drink. How long he sat there a captive of his swirling thoughts, he didn’t know. Neither spoke for a long time. After a while he started to wonder if Regulus had left. It was difficult to know with a ghost. 

His eyes grew heavy; it had been a long day. Draco stretched and placed his empty glass on the tea trolley. Montego would clean it all away once Draco had gone to bed. 

Regulus was still there, standing in the door way leading into the hall. “I suggest you go to bed. You’ve been up night after night. It’s beginning to show; you’re looking rather haggard.” 

Draco jerked his head up to stare at Reg. How did he know? It was true, Draco had spent many sleepless nights recently. With each evening they had spent together, Draco had found himself falling more and more in love with the ghost of Regulus Black, and he had no idea what to do about it. He was an honest and gentle spirit, honest to the point of sometimes causing pain but never intentionally. Passionate about his beliefs, even when they changed and evolved, and those he cared about. 

“Don’t be obtuse, Draco. I’m a ghost. You’re not always going to know when I’m around, only when I choose to let you.” Regulus waggled his eyebrows at Draco and winked, just before he disappeared. 

“Why can I see you, when Harry can’t? He told me in all the time you haunted them, he never saw you. Why?”

Reg reappeared on the stairs in front of him. “You saw me, because you wanted to see me.” He lifted up his hand to halt Draco’s interruption. “I don’t know why, but I think for some reason, you knew you were going to need me. Or maybe I was the one that knew you were going to need me. Harry never did.” 

“What’s to become of us? Of you and me?” he asked. Suddenly it was the most important thing in the world. He needed to know.

 

"Nothing will become of me. I’m a ghost. I’m not alive. There is no us.”

 

“Don’t you realise how much I’ve come to care for you? Can’t you see? While we were together, each evening, working on the book together, sharing and laughing. I felt I was part of something, part of someone, someone brave and noble. You’ve made me feel that I too, could one day be the same. But we’re done now and there’s no reason for you to stay. I’m so afraid I’m going to lose you. Anytime I think of the future, it’s dark and confusing and lonely. Scorpius is my son, and I love him dearly, but I need more in my life.”

Regulus sighed deeply. “Of course I know how you feel about me. I may be dead, but I’m not blind or stupid. But it can’t happen. We can never be together, no matter how much we may want it. You know that. I know that. And no matter how much this may kill me, again, to say. You should get out more. Go to clubs. Dance. See men. Bring one home. Fuck him, or let him fuck you, whichever you prefer. You’ve too much life still left to deny yourself.” 

 

“I don’t want anyone else. There’s only one person I want, and I can never have him.” 

 

“I fear I’ve done you a disservice. It’s not fair to you, that you never go out because of me. That should change.” Regulus then disappeared. Something he did whenever the conversation had grown too hard for him. 

 

“Oh, Reg, I fear I’ve got myself into an awful fix.” Draco whispered to the empty space where Reg had just been. 

 

***

“Hands stretched out for me, reaching and grabbing. They pulled me under, all the hands coming from out of the water. They held me down. I struggled to get loose, to escape, but it was useless. There were too many of them and they were too strong. The more I struggled, the firmer they gripped me. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I had to breathe, when I did, the water rushed in filling my nose and mouth. It rushed into my lungs, drowning and suffocating, cutting short my life. I couldn’t…. I couldn’t… “ Reg’s voice was quick and shallow, unable to finish. 

Draco sat stunned and shattered. Slowly, he stopped the quill in mid-air and laid it and the pages of parchment to the side. He fought to catch his breath. To return to this time and this room, but all he kept seeing was Regulus being pulled under, to his death, at the hands of Inferi monsters from story books and dark tales; all he could hear was the waves crashing upon the rocks, Reg’s struggles to get free, to rise above the dark waters and once again breathe the fresh air.

Reg’s death had been even more terrifying than Draco had ever, could ever imagine. No quick and painless Avada Kedavra for him. His death had been slow, agonizingly slow, each moment a torture, with no way of escape. 

“I can’t believe you survived that,” Draco said.

Regulus made a gasping sort of snort. “But I didn’t, survive that. That’s why I can only sit next to you, instead of holding you in my arms and kissing you. I’m dead, remember.”

“Oh Reg, you know what I mean. How did you keep from going insane? How are you able to still think and talk and be normal?”

“You mean for a dead guy?”

Draco rolled his eyes, irritated. He stood and stretched, raising his arms over his head and bending first one way and then the other. As he did, he felt the elastic waist of his trousers slide down. He reached to adjust them, and caught sight of Reg staring at him. The gaze held such hunger and longing, it damn near took Draco’s breath away. 

“Reg? What is it?”

“It’s nothing, never mind. I just got distracted for a bit. So how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?’

“The book. We’ve finished it.” 

“Yeah, it’s great. Now what?” Draco asked accioing a bottle of brandy and a blanket from the cupboard. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop shivering, after what he’d just seen. 

“Now you make several copies of it. Put one in the safe here, one in the vault at Gringott’s.” At Draco’s reaction he said, “Your funds may be inaccessible but you still have the right to the Malfoy vault. Give one to Harry to read. And then you start making the rounds to the best publishers in Diagon Alley. I don’t suppose you know of a Ravenclaw that could assist, do you?”

“No, but there is a Hufflepuff I know that’s opened a small publishing company. He’s filthy rich, has some excellent connections, both Wizard and Muggle. He also used to have the worst sort of crush on me. I imagine he’ll at least be willing to take a look.” 

“A crush, huh. Well just make sure you turn up that charm. You’ve done a good job with the book, but if it doesn’t get published no one will know. Now off to bed with you, you need your beauty sleep. You want to make sure this young Hufflepuff—Hufflepuff, really?-- Still finds you edibly attractive.” 

“I think I’ll stay down here a bit longer, finish this.” He held up the brandy he’d just poured. “I’ll go up soon.” 

“See that you do.” Regulus leaned towards him and Draco felt a frail breath of air across his lips and then he was gone. 

***

Justin wasn’t quite the same as he had been. For one thing, he was now married with two girls, and an extra two stone he’d found since their Hogwarts days.

Draco still flirted and Justin, or rather Finch-Fletchley still seemed to appreciate it, but that was all it was. Finch-Fletchley was however very interested in the book, agreeing to publish it and with a very generous advance. Draco, finally felt free to relax some. After a year of working on the book, worrying about when Harry was going to start asking for payments, he knew at last that he had succeeded. . 

“This is fascinating stuff. I don’t know where you got your information, only I swear this almost feels like a first-hand account. But, that’s impossible. Everyone knows Regulus Black died before either one of us was born.” Justin paled unexpectedly and blurted out, “You didn’t get this from him did you?”

“Him, who?” Draco asked anxious that somehow, Justin had guessed at the real author of the story.

“He who must not be named,” Justin whispered looking around in fear.

Draco could only laugh, “No. The information did not come from there. I regret however that I cannot divulge my true source. You’ll have to take my word that they were legitimate.” 

“Oh, I know. I ran the test. The tale is so stirring; it reads more like a work of fiction. I had to be sure.” He picked up the manuscript and began flipping through the pages, tapping his fingers on the table as he reread some of the passages. “Every word of this is true.” 

“The test? There’s a test?”

Justin looked up from the manuscript. “There is now. After that libelous fabrication about Professor Dumbledore that came out after his death, something had to be done. Some of us more serious publishers devised a test. Anything that offered itself as non-fiction had to pass the test. If it didn’t, well it could only be marketed and sold as fiction. Luna Lovegood, you remember her, was very instrumental in developing the test. “

“Well, I guess any book about Nargles would have proven the accuracy of the test.” 

“No. Turns out Nargles really are real.”

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Each of them catching up on former students they’d not seen or heard from. Eventually though it was time for Draco to leave. Just as he was walking out of the office, he ran, literally, into another former Hogwarts student from his year.

Zacharias Smith was just coming into the office. Draco had to admit Zach caught his attention. Smith was rather attractive, and he was also fit. 

His shoulders had broadened and his waist slimmed, and when he bent over to pick up the pages of the manuscript that now liberally sprinkled the floor of the outer office, Draco couldn’t help noticing he had a rather fine arse on him as well. But Zacharias Smith had been a complete wanker in school. Everyone had known that. 

Yet somehow, Draco found himself at the Leaky for lunch in Zach’s company. Afterwards they’d browsed Flourish and Blotts, talking of their favourite authors, as well as stopping by Scribbulus, where they’d each purchased a few extra quills. Draco had never known Smith could be so pleasant and charming. Before he’d realise it, it was past dinner time and he had not told Scorpius, or anyone else for that matter, he would be late. His son tended to worry, and Draco could not blame him, not after Astoria. .

“I have to go. My son is waiting for me. I should have been home hours ago. He’ll be worried.”

“Do you have to? You could send an owl, saying you’ve met an old friend. Then you could come to mine. I’ve a rather exclusive bottle of Napoleon brandy I’ve been saving.” Zacharias ran his finger lightly, yet with a hint of possessiveness along Draco’s arm. When he reached Draco’s collar, he caressed the skin above it. “I feel we’ve barely scratched the surface of rediscovering one another.” The look in his eyes seemed to want to devour Draco. “There’s much about you I’d like to know better.” 

Draco swallowed and forced himself to push away, declining the offer. He was in love with Regulus and even if they couldn’t touch, he wanted to be true. But when Zacharias kissed him good night, Draco promised to return to have dinner with him the next day. 

***

It was early the next morning when Draco finally Apparated onto the front stoop of his home. Draco had accepted Zacharias’s invitation to his home, after dinner at an elegant restaurant in Edinburgh, their third date. There they’d shared a snifter or two of the Napoleon Brandy, and well …one thing had led to the other. 

He knew he should feel guilty about having been away from Scorpius the entire night. . Scorpius was well cared for and was perfectly safe in the protection of Greg and the house-elves. He also knew, the feel of another’s cock in him, filling him, the press of another body against this back, as they moved in tandem with one another had been too good to shorten. The emptiness that he’d carried inside him for so long was at last being filled.

Draco tip-toed quietly into the entrance and hoped furiously that Walburga would remain sleeping. His evening had been too scrumptious to be ruined by her. The hall and rest of the house remained silent. The unexpected memory of Zach’s mouth on his, tongue gently probing and his lips caressing Draco’s caused him to shiver in delight.

Fuck, it had been good, so bloody good. To hold a real man, a man with blood and bone, flesh and muscles. Skin smooth and silken under Draco’s fingers, and muscles solid, firm, unyielding; thigh muscles that quivered as he’d held Draco’s head, fingers grasping lightly, yet firmly as Draco’s mouth and tongue had coaxed his release from him. 

Zach returned the favour and when Draco had at last felt his release it had felt so heavenly, the vision of Regulus, on his knees, that appeared in his mind had hardly affected him at all -- for a millisecond or so- then the realization that somehow, in some way, he’d just been unfaithful to the one he truly loved had struck. 

What was he to do? Reg was a ghost. They couldn’t touch they couldn’t kiss, they sure couldn’t fuck. But Draco could do all those things with Zacharias. Only Zach wasn’t Regulus. Draco sat on the sofa in the parlour and thought and thought and thought, looking for any solution. 

When he woke, the fire was almost out, only a few embers remained and the room had grown chilly. Regulus stood over him and glowered with emotion. 

“Where the fuck were you tonight? Do you not have any concern for your child? He was terrified. He cried and cried for his father.” Regulus turned his head apparently unable to even look at Draco, he was so angry. 

Was that true? Had Scorpius really been that afraid? But why? Then the memory of Astoria’s last day, the day she’d left in the morning on a visit to her sister’s and had never returned home. But that was two years ago. Had Scorpius remembered and thought the same had happened to Draco? Gods he was such a selfish prick, so intent on getting his own pleasure, he’d not given thought to his son. 

Only he had. He had owled Greg and told him to tell Scorpius he’d be late. Had told Greg to give his son an extra-large hug, and had promised to spend extra time with him the next day. He’d ever promised to let Scorpius read more than one story to him. They still enjoyed their bedtime ritual, although more often than not, it was Scorpius that read the stories out loud to his father. 

In a moment of clarity, Draco knew Regulus had just lied.

“Fuck you!”, oh if only he could. “That’s not true. Why you would say such a thing? I’ve never neglected my son or his happiness. Look, I know as a ghost you can come and go as you want and I can’t do a bloody thing about it, but I would thank you to get the fuck out of my face and leave me alone. I don’t want to see you, or hear you or talk you, or have anything to do with you. At all!!”

Draco surged to his feet and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Inexplicably he felt like crying, wanted so much to just throw himself across the sofa and weep. Or pick the sofa up and hurl it across the room. Nothing he’d just said was true. Not a word of it. 

Regulus though, must have thought he meant it. He went away and stayed away. Draco had not felt this lonely since the months following Astoria’s death, when all the arrangements, legal and financial, had been made and the friends and family had stopped calling and the sympathy owls had ended. Only this was worse, much worse. Regulus was staying away by choice. And because Draco had told him to. 

Zacharias though was Draco’s salvation. He pursued Draco with relentless determination, owling him daily, sometimes twice. Even going so far as to offer to buy him an owling, so they could send ‘hoots’ to one another through the day and night. The thought made him feel wanted and loved, though he’d declined the offer. 

They frequented Draco’s favourite museums and galleries, as well as men’s clothing stores, along with enjoying excellent meals and wines at the best restaurants. Zach discovered his favourite chocolates and obtained them directly from Belgium, surprising Draco with them when he least expected it. 

A week then two and then three passed before Regulus returned. Draco had begun to wonder if he would ever see him again. So relieved was Draco, when Reg again appeared, he couldn’t stop smiling. The joy was short-lived, as Regulus immediately began the same criticism of Draco’s behaviour, especially in regards to Zacharias.

***

“I think it’s abhorrent how you are neglecting your son to spend so much time with that Smith character.” Even as a ghost, Regulus’ sneer was powerful. “I heard what Harry said about him, how he tried to run over the first years at the battle. Surely, you don’t think he’s changed. Do you?”

Draco remembered the conversation with Harry well. “He’s not good enough for you. You’re worth ten of him.” 

“Who I date is none of your business Potter.” Draco’s anger had surged through him. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Harry had said and then turned and walked away.

They had not spoken since. 

“Now you’re just being churlish,” Draco now answered Regulus, who continued frowning. “I find him quite charming.” 

“Is he fucking you?”

“I don’t know that that is any of your business. And so what if he is?” how dare he ask that?

“If a man is fucked, it’s because he wants to be.” Regulus bellowed.

Draco could only blink up at him, speechless, before he snapped. “That’s the most ridiculous thing anyone’s ever said. Of course I wanted to be fucked. It’s been bloody forever since I had a nice thick cock up my arse. And believe me his is spectacular.” 

If Reg was shocked by what Draco had just said, he managed not to show it. Not so much Bimidi, who had just Apparated into the room. She gave a little squeak and cracked back out again.

“So, what’s going to happen now?” Reg asked, his expression was stern and unforgiving. 

“I don’t know. I imagine he’ll want us to move in together, maybe start a life together. Or maybe we’ll just keep dating. It doesn’t really matter to me.” But Draco was lying. He very much enjoyed Zach’s company and the ex Hufflepuff was more than adequate in bed. Draco could do a lot worse. 

“I’m supposed to believe that. I think it matters more than you want to admit. Do you love him?” Regulus asked softly.

Draco looked up in surprise. 

“I haven’t really thought about it. I think I could. He’s charming and exciting and an attentive date.” 

“What about Scorpius? Is this Zach person,” Reg’s lips curled in derision, “as attentive to your son? Does Scorpius enjoy being with him as well?” 

Thus far Zach and Scorpius had both failed to win any sort of approval from the other. Sure it was only that the seven year old was not ready to share his father’s affection with another, Draco refused to give much thought to his son’s obvious dislike and distrust of Zach. 

“Scorpius will come around. He just needs to spend more time with Zach, that’s all.” 

“Is being with Smith, what you want?” 

“Yes it is. I need someone who’s real, who is flesh and blood. Someone I can go to bed with, fuck for hours on end, fall asleep beside and wake up next to the following morning.” 

“I only want you to be happy. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“You’re the one who told me I needed to get out, to meet people. That means I have to take risks.” 

“I know, but I fear dangerous waters ahead for you.” 

“I have to be willing to take a chance.” 

Draco waited, but Reg made no other response. 

“Well, Regulus, don’t you have anything else to say?”

Reg said nothing, only caught Draco’s gaze and held it for several seconds before he nodded and disappeared. And Draco was left with the feeling that they’d just said their final good-byes, without actually saying a word.

Exhausted from the emotions the conversation had stirred in him, Draco was too tired to make it to his own bed; instead he’d just curled up on the sofa. As he was falling asleep, he thought he heard. “You’ve made your choice. You’ve chosen life. That’s as it should be.” 

***

“I had the strangest dream last night,” Draco said to Greg over the breakfast table. “There was this man. I think, or maybe it was just a boy, about seventeen or so. I didn’t know him, but he kept saying that he was going to respect my wishes. He was going to leave me in peace and I was free to be with whomever I wished.” Draco paused and stirred his cream into his coffee and buttered his toast. “The most confusing thing was, I felt it important that he was saying these things and that he was giving me permission. Only I’ve no idea who he was.”

Greg continued eating his porridge, not saying a word. As was his way. Draco chewed his toast and said nothing else. Only he couldn’t escape the feeling that something dear and priceless had just disappeared from his life. What it was he had no idea. Must have been the dream. Then Scorpius in his new short pants that hung down past his knees and in his trainers that were untied, as usual, had come running in, the hat with the Chudley Canons logo, turned backwards on his head. Zach’s owl scratched at the window, and soon Draco forgot all about the dream, but the feeling of something missing never fully left him. 

***

Soon he and Zacharias were spending every weekend together. Sometimes at Grimmauld Place, but most often at Zach’s flat in Wapping. Zach explained he felt more at ease in his own home, and they’d have a more privacy there as well. 

And it was true, seldom was there anyone there to disturb them. Occasionally a few owls, or floo calls in the night from dissatisfied customers. Zacharias’s ambition may be to be a published writer, but he had made his fortune as an investment advisor in Muggle finances to wealthy wizards. 

The money from the sale of his book began pouring in and after paying at least three years in advance on the house, Draco began looking at making his own investments. Zach was his advisor of choice, and the money began to pour in. Draco was happy, he was financial secure and he was in love with a truly wonderful man. Zacharias was a selfless lover, knowing exactly what Draco needed and when. He knew when Draco wanted it rough and forceful and when he need to be spoiled and seduced. Zacharias had the Midas touch, in more ways than one. 

But there was something wrong, not everyone felt the same about Zach as Draco did. 

Greg grew sullen and soon had returned to his old ways. The way he’d been their seventh year, once again taking pleasure in hurting others. Bimidi refused to do anything that Zach asked, and when Draco tried to order her to, her response was she was free elf. And Scorpius: his bright, shiny, happy child once again became the clingy and whiny child he’d been after Astoria’s death, when he wasn’t outright rebelling against anything Draco tried to get him to do. 

Harry, Draco’s closest companion and most trusted friend, had told him straight out, he was a complete arse if he kept seeing Zacharias Smith. Then Harry had left, and had stayed gone for a really long time; even Weasley no longer stopped by for Wizard’s chess. 

Before he left Harry had kept saying how he didn’t understand why Draco was doing this to Regulus. That if he was going to choose to be unfaithful, he could at least do it with someone worthy, which hadn’t made a bit of sense. The only Regulus Draco was aware of was the one in the portrait that hung in his room. He wasn’t sure why the portrait was there. Nor could anyone else explain why, only that he’d insisted it be moved there. The only explanation he could think of was he’d been suffering from grief so strong from Astoria’s death that it had affected his mental capacities. 

Zach had insisted the portrait be removed from the bedroom, and Draco had agreed. Only once it was gone, the hole in Draco’s soul seemed to get even larger.

After that, things started to change. Zach became easily distracted, was no longer as attentive as he had been. Was often late, or didn’t show at all. Owls from people he didn’t know found Draco’s address and began arriving, first weekly and then almost daily. Owls that brought Howlers accusing Zacharias of “conduct unbecoming” came from men and women alike, Muggle and Wizard as well.   
One woman in particular insisted that she was his wife and the mother of his children. Draco refused to believe it, until one of the owls included a photo of Zach with his arm around a woman and three small children posed around them. There could be no doubt the children were Zach’s and the woman’s.

Draco had then done the only sensible thing for someone who had been humiliated beyond tolerance. He got good and proper and sodding drunk. He’d owled Harry, told him Mr Smith was out of his life for good, and asked Harry to come around. Luckily, or not, Harry was not the grudge holding sort, or maybe he’d just wanted a chance to get pissed as well. He’d come through Draco’s floo not half an hour later. 

An empty bottle of scotch later, Draco had almost ruined a perfectly wonderful friendship by seducing and then allowing Harry to fuck him. 

What an unmitigating disaster that had almost been. Not that Potter was a bad fuck. Far from it. To the best of Draco’s drunken memory Harry had been a thoughtful and very thorough lover. He’d understood that Draco needed to first forget by fucking, and then remember by reminiscing, both the good and the bad, before he could fully release the pain of Zach’s betrayal. But they were “Potter and Malfoy”, or they had been. Now they were Harry and Draco. There was nothing more important in Draco’s life, besides his son, than his friendship with Harry. Ruining in by their fucking each other was completely idiotic. Not worth contemplating.

Sadly, it had taken them three or four more shags, before they’d both realised what a mistake it would be to continue. But they had been fabulous fucks, not easily forgotten.

***

At eleven, Scorpius along with all the other eleven year olds boarded the Hogwarts Express. Greg was on the train with them, the newest Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. 

That same day Pansy had arrived at his door, drunk and disorderly and not in the best of conditions. Flint, never a nice bloke in the best of times had found her in a compromising position. He’d taken to using her as a punching bag. Draco moved her into Greg’s old room that same day.

And thus Pansy became Draco’s newest house companion. She and Weasley flirted with one another whenever he came for his weekly wizarding chess games. Draco tried to warn her not to get too attached. Weasley was and always had been completely devoted to Granger, his wife. 

Kreacher had died the first winter after Scorpius and Greg had left for Hogwarts. Draco had found him curled in front of the portrait, the golden locket in his hand. He was aware the locket was special to Kreacher, hardly ever letting it out of his sight. Draco did not know the significance of the locket, only that Kreacher had been genuinely hurt when Draco had declined the offer to wear it. 

Like Harry had Dobby, Draco had used his own hands to bury Kreacher in the back garden. The locket was still clutched next to his heart. 

Harry found himself a strapping young Auror on an exchange from Canada. Managed to fall head over heels in lust and promptly made arrangements to be transferred to some place called Alberta when Matthew, the Mountie, had returned home. Harry returned during the summer months and Christmas hols to be with his kids, before returning to what he’d always referred to as the “nipples frozen to the breaking point” cold of Canada. Draco missed him, but Harry had seemed genuinely happy, so Draco had wished him well. Four years later Harry moved back to England; he and the Mountie had called it quits. He showed up at Draco’s front door, and asked if there was room for one more. At least until he could figure out where he wanted to live. There was.

After Pansy had realised her mistake in falling for one Weasley, she’d promptly fallen for another. This one fell for her just as hard. A few months past her fourth year anniversary as Draco’s house mate, she and Percy Weasley had found a home together. The naysayers said it wouldn’t work; Percy was too staid and by the book, and Pansy a bit too free, with her words and other things. But they’d not seen the adoration in Percy’s eyes, or the look of peace in hers when they were together. 

Harry had moved in a week later. It took another three years before Harry fell in love, again, and moved back out. After that, Draco and Montego rattled around in the old house alone, until another of Harry’s relationships would end and he’d return. They’d often teased about Harry now being the tenant and Draco the landlord, Harry moved in and out so much. 

And so his life went on. He had his friends; he had his son. And he had number 12 Grimmauld Place, his home. He went to clubs occasionally bringing blokes home for the evening, but more often than not, he pulled in the back rooms. . But he never again let himself fall in love. He’d done that twice already and saw no reason to repeat the experience. He was alone and on occasion he knew loneliness. Yet there were times when he couldn’t help but feel that once upon a time he’d had that which others so desperately seemed to want. But try as he would he could not imagine when or where. Only that he had, perhaps in another life. 

Thus Draco was sitting alone in the parlour waiting for Scorpius and what he’d said was a surprise. His son had sounded disappointed when Draco had told him Harry was no longer living there, having just moved out a few weeks ago. Draco was glad that he had chosen to wait for them sitting, when Scorpius announced he was getting married. Draco had been less surprised but no more happy, when Albus Potter had walked in a few minutes later. Scorpius and Albus had been joined at the hip since they were both four years old, and had fallen in love at age fourteen and now here they were telling him that they were engaged. The wedding was to take place in mere months, and Scorpius wanted it to be at Grimmauld Place. The fact that the two of them fought more than Weasley and Granger was a bit disconcerting, but Draco held his tongue, and immediately agreed to their wishes. They’d sat for hours drinking ale and discussing the arrangements. 

Draco had just been wondering if it would be possible to have the reception in the back garden, when Scorpius had unexpectedly interrupted his musings. “Does Regulus ever still come to visit? I’ve not seem him in so long. I was hopelessly in love with him, Father you knew him, too, didn’t you?” 

“Who? Regulus? What are you talking about? Of course I didn’t know him, nor did you. He was dead before I was born and long before you were even thought of. And he assuredly doesn’t come to visit. Where ever did this come from?” Draco snapped. Yet somehow in the far reaches of his mind something stirred. But it was just a thin tendril of a long forgetter memory and it dissipated leaving no trace.

Scorpius looked at him strangely. “Don’t you remember him?”

“Well of course I remember who he was; I wrote a book about him, didn’t I? Although, now that I think about it, I think perhaps I did dream of him a few times. I’m sure now that it was just from all the studying and reading of him I had done. 

“Me too. I dreamed of him as well, only I thought he was real. He used to come and sit by my bed and tell me tales of him and his brother when they were my age. Then for some reason, when I was about seven or so, just as you started seeing that horrible Zacharias person, he quit coming around. I missed him so much for a long time, and then I completely forgot about him. Until just as we were standing across the street ready to come in. I looked at the house, as it revealed itself, and for some reason I just thought of him. Isn’t that weird?”

Memories and thoughts and visions of a youngish man with blue black hair and sparkling black eyes laughing and talking with him tickled at Draco’s memory. They come too fast for him to catch them and examine them and left even quicker. But he knew that somehow what his son had just said was true. Yet how could it be? There had never been any word or hint of a ghost of Regulus Black. But how did he know the things he knew? It was too confusing, and his son and his fiancée were here, and there was a wedding to plan. 

But there was no wedding, at least not with Albus. Scorpius, his beautiful son, was left at the altar when Albus Potter ran off with someone named Lorcan Scamander. It had taken several weeks before Draco had forgiven Harry enough to speak to him, though he knew it wasn’t his fault. Albus and Lorcan remained married for more than thirty years, and gave Harry three grandchildren, and at least two great grandchildren. Draco was never blessed with grandchildren, although Scorpius did manage to give him four -- or was it five -- sons in law. 

Draco's dreams became more and more unusual and left him each morning feeling a sense of loss. He took long walks in the park, stayed up late reading, all to try to combat the dreams. Generally they included a dark haired man, with warm laughter, but Draco could never see his face, it was always turned away. For many mornings when he woke he was overwhelmed with the desire to go and look at the portrait. He’d not understood the reason why, but eventually he had given in and moved the portrait, knowing only that he wanted it near him. 

*** 

Getting to his bedroom on the second floor becomes more and more difficult. The Cruciatus curses he’d suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord have left his muscles weak and his bones brittle. He takes to curling up each night in the large chair in the parlour. The portrait of Regulus Black now hangs on the wall in front of him. He doesn’t understand why, but it gives him a feeling of belonging. Even in the dark, he can still feel it. 

Harry is coming for a visit tomorrow. Albus and Lorcan’s grandchildren are due to start Hogwarts; Harry is no longer needed to help care for them. Besides he is ready to come back, or so his “hoot” says. It’ll be good to see Harry, Draco thinks. His eyes begin to drift closed. He can’t understand why he’s been feeling so tired lately. 

A hand touches him softly on his shoulder. Draco opens his eyes. Regulus stands before him. One hand rests on Draco’s shoulder and the other beckons for him to rise. Draco knows beyond any doubt, any hesitation that this is who he’s been waiting his whole life for. The memories of their time together, of falling in love, of the past joy and happiness all come flooding back, and the years of loneliness disappear. 

He stretches out his hand towards Reg, the wrinkled skin and gnarled knuckles of the past have vanished, age spots and yellowed nails are disappeared. He is once again 29 years old, in the prime of his life and health as when they had first met. 

He leans forward and Reg pulls him to his feet and into his arms. They stand together, head to head, happy to at last be able to touch. “I’m so happy to see you again. I’ve missed you so,” Reg says as he leans in and presses his lips against Draco’s. When they part, Draco whispers, “and I’ve waited a lifetime for you to return.” Together they turn and walk down the long hallway and out the front door. 

***

Harry found the body when he arrived the next day. His only comment to the press: “Draco Malfoy died in his sleep last night. He was my friend and I will miss him.”


End file.
